Be My Guest to Let It Out Tonight
by Sidalee
Summary: South Korea, a bathtub, Steve and Kono...and the aftermath. A McKono Smut Sunday fic. (Re-upload)


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize…

**A/N:** Don't know why but a few of my stories disappeared from my account so I had to re-post them. So yeah, nothing new. Sorry.

Tell me what you think!

* * *

Steve's vaguely aware of his surroundings, Danny's concerned expression and his slightly annoyed tone while he's being dragged towards the chopper.

There are arms around his neck suddenly, slim and trembling and for a fleeting moment he thinks that it's Kono but the scent that fills his lungs is all wrong, too flowery, too intense and he grunts in disappointment.

The last thing he remembers is Chin announcing his engagement before he blacks out from the pain and exhaustion.

He comes to in a bathtub in an unfamiliar bathroom.

_What the hell?_

"Welcome back." He hears Kono's voice.

She's sitting next to the tub with a washcloth in one hand, which she keeps dipping into the warm water and scrubbing across his skin.

"Why am I in a bathtub?" He croaks, looking confused.

"We are in South Korea. You were unconscious when the chopper landed so Danny and Chin brought you back here. You were kind of a mess and since we couldn't get you to a hospital..." She trails off, her voice breaking.

"Who undressed me?" He narrows his eyes at her.

"I did. I figured better me than the guys," she shrugs. "Especially if you woke up in the middle of it."

"I guess." He mumbles, trying hard not to imagine Chin or Danny as they taking his clothes off.

She wets the washcloth and rubs it under his jaw, which he tolerates for about three seconds before batting her hand away.

"Okay, enough. I'm fine. Now, would you leave so I can get out of here?" He's got his hands on the edge of the tub, poised to lift himself out of the water. She sits there and stares at him, so he moves to get up. "You can stay if you want, you've seen everything, anyway."

"Come on," she says, pushing him back down into the water. "Stop. You are bruised all over but you'll be okay. You just have to let yourself relax a little bit. Let me help."

"I'm fine." He grumbles.

"No, you're not. You've been tortured. More than usual so just…sit. Stay." She argues with a strange glint in her eyes, like she's going to cry or something.

"I'm not a dog." He snaps.

"Yeah, well, I'll treat you like one if I have to." She smirks at him.

With that, she picks up the bottle of shampoo near her feet and squeezes a dollop onto his head before he can stop her.

"Hey!"

"Hush. Be a good boy."

She rubs her fingers into his hair, working the shampoo into a lather. When she scratches the uninjured parts of his scalp with her fingernails, he can't help the small moan that escapes from his mouth.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "It feels good."

"Don't be sorry." She rinses his hair with her hands the best she can and combs through it gently with her fingers.

"Why are you patting me?" He grumbles.

"Oh, you like it." She rolls her eyes at him.

She moves behind him and puts a hand flat on his back, urging him to lean forward. He looks back at her suspiciously, but obeys. She scrubs at his neck and back with the washcloth until the last traces of dirt are gone and decides to take advantage of her position.

She puts down the washcloth and touches his back gently, skating her fingers between his shoulder blades and down his back, rubbing gently and counting the cuts and bruises. He lets his head hang and sighs deeply. Her hands knead the tense muscles in his back and shoulders, starting near his neck and making their way down to the small of his back.

She draws circles on his skin with her thumbs. He groans, and she smiles at the back of his head.

Something in the air changes then, and he looks back at her, still hunched over.

"Uh, I think maybe that's enough." He says in a husky voice.

"What?" Her hands still, resting on his shoulders.

"Just, uh, you should stop now." His tone is almost pleading.

"Oh, sorry," she says. "Were you not enjoying that?"

"No, I was. A little too much. So…"

"Oh. Oh…um" She averts her gaze.

"Yeah." His ears are red with embarrassment, and he refuses to look back at her. "Maybe just… leave?"

There's something about the way his voice sounds, the way he's acting, that makes her move around to the side of the tub and kneel down again. She pushes at his shoulder, urging him to lean back against the cool porcelain.

"What are you doing?" He narrows his eyes at her.

She touches his face and notes the way he unconsciously leans into her touch. She runs her thumb along the scratchiness of his chin, the softness of his lips. He keeps his eyes locked with hers, watching as she slides her hand down his neck to his chest.

He stops breathing when she scratches her fingernails over his nipples and the rough hair on his chest. Her hand keeps wandering downward into the water, past his stomach, and he's rock hard when she wraps her fingers around him.

"Oh, fuck," he sighs.

His eyes squeeze shut and he leans his head back, gripping the edges of the bathtub until his knuckles turn white.

She moves her hand up and down his length, squeezing gently and twisting her wrist. She rubs her thumb gently across the head, then harder with her palm, and he makes a strangled whimpering sound that she's kind of proud of.

"Quiet," she says. "They'll hear."

It feels heady, lustful, erotic, and man, if anyone had told her a week ago that she'd be jerking off Commander Steve McGarrett in a bathtub, she probably would've thought they were crazy.

But she is, and he's thrusting into her fist and breathing hard and she can tell he's so, so close. She speeds up the motions of her hand, her efforts becoming more vigorous, and it's not long before he comes with a gasp, spilling through her fingers and into the water.

She waits for his tremors to subside, stroking him softly. When he cracks open his eyes to look at her, she smiles and kisses his knuckles, which hang limply on the wall of the tub.

"Finish up and get dressed," she says. "I'll see you out there."

She leaves, closing the door behind her, and sees Danny a few feet away.

"He's awake." She informs her teammate.

"Finally." Danny grumbles half-heartedly. "How's he doing?"

"Fine." She tries very hard to keep her face neutral. "He'll be out in a few."

She walks away rubbing her wrist, grinning to herself.

.

.

They're supposed to be doing inventory at the HQ's armory but it's just him and Kono in a very small space and Steve's having trouble concentrating.

The work is mindless and all he can think about is what happened between them just days prior, of a bathtub and her hands and how they haven't spoken of it since. Somehow, he thinks, things were easier when all he had to worry about was Wo Fat.

It's quiet in the room except for her soft humming as she counts the bullets. He can tell she's not going to bring it up, out of regret or embarrassment or who knows what, but it's driving him crazy and he's tired of pretending the elephant in the room isn't there.

"So," he finally says, trying and failing to be smooth. He sets down the crate of hand grenades and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

"So." She grins at him and stops counting to prop herself against the table. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better," he says. "I'm healing quickly."

"Good. I'm glad." She nods, going back to the task at hand, and he stares at her.

"All right, listen," he drawls. "Do we need to talk about what happened, or…?"

"You know what? It's okay. I was just… helping you out," she says with a shrug. "We all have needs."

He's not sure what to do with that, because it's not all that satisfying an answer. He settles on,

"Yeah. Okay," and starts to head towards the door because he fucking needs some fresh air and some space between them.

"Hey, Steve?" she calls, and he stops, a hand on the frame. She gives him a soft smile. "Feel free to return the favor any time."

He stares at her, sizing her up, before he strides back over to her. When he's close enough to feel her body against his, he pauses for only a second before twisting a hand into her ponytail to tilt her head back and kissing her hard on the mouth.

"Mmm," she hums, surprised, immediately kissing him back. Her hands slide up his chest to circle his neck.

He growls and kisses a sloppy path under her jaw and down her neck before moving back to lick into her mouth. He crushes her to him and cups her ass, squeezing gently.

There's a wooden table alongside the wall, so he walks her backwards and slips a leg between hers before bending and lowering her across it.

He keeps kissing her as he reaches to unbutton her jeans and inch down the zipper. He slides his hand down the front of her underwear and his fingers skim a path over her curls, seeking her center. He cups her, and she's wet and hot and grinding against his hand.

"Oh, God," she breathes, her eyelids heavy.

His fingers stroke her gently, and she cries out. He puts his lips against her ear.

"Hush, now," he says, and nips her earlobe.

He pushes her jeans and panties down and she kicks out of them, letting them and her shoes land in a heap on the floor. He's half on top of her, pressing and hard against her side.

He watches her face as he slides one finger inside of her, then two, and she's biting her lip, a hand fisting in his shirt. He pumps his fingers in and out of her, his thumb rubbing patterns on her clit. She arches her back, moving against his hand, and he dips his head to kiss her mouth and the swell of her breasts.

He nips at her through her shirt, grinding against her leg, and she comes hard, muscles clenching around his fingers, her mouth open in a wordless scream.

Her chest heaves against him as she comes down, and he leans his forehead against her collarbone to try to steady himself. He's still got his fingers buried inside of her.

"Come on," she mutters impatiently, pushing at his shoulder. She palms the front of his cargos before moving to his belt, working it open. "Off."

His hands tremble as he helps her and his pants are barely over his hips before she hooks a leg around his waist and pulls him in. He groans as they connect and wraps his arms around her for leverage.

All pretenses gone, he thrusts into her again and again, his hips moving against hers in a hard, fast rhythm. His hand slides under her shirt to squeeze her breast.

It doesn't last long, but it doesn't have to as she crashes over the edge again, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming. His hips jerk, rhythm faltering, and he comes as well, his shout muffled against the side of her neck.

After a few moments, he flips them so he doesn't crush her and they lie halfway on the table, catching their breaths.

"So," she says, her mouth curving upwards.

"So." he knows his answering smile is a little dopey at least.

She takes a look at their surroundings and wrinkles her nose.

"You know, it really is dirty in here." She picks up a bullet and tosses it aside. "I'm going to need a bath after this."

"I know a place." He smirks, his fingers tightening for a moment on her hips.

"Then what are we waiting for?" She laughs.


End file.
